


Brushfire

by raidelle



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:36:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raidelle/pseuds/raidelle
Summary: It was pure bliss, the heat of her. And Ignis wants to burn and burn.





	Brushfire

**Author's Note:**

> My very first HighSpecs fic. Please be gentle. ^^;
> 
> Also, I have no editor/beta so please forgive any mistakes you see.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading! ♡♡♡

Neither of them know how or when it began, exactly, whatever this thing is between them, but they both feel its inexorable pull, its inescapable truth.

  


* * *

  


It was Aranea who’d actively sought him out, just a week after the sun rose again over Eos. She’d long decided that she liked him best out of the Chosen King’s retinue, with a quick wit and a dry humor like hers, so she’d also thought it was him who was best to approach when it came to offering whatever she could to help rebuild.

For his part, Ignis had been expecting her to do exactly what she did, although not quite so soon. They’d barely established an office and worked out a chain of command when she breezed through the doorway (he didn’t have a door yet) and asked for something to do. He supposed she’d felt quite as lost as he, seeking purpose in a new world that needed neither mercenaries nor tacticians.

“Everyone could use an advisor, though,” she’d said.

“I was groomed to advise one person,” he’d replied with a shrug, though his voice had been melancholic. “And I wasn’t able to do much advising, anyway. The world changed so much, so quickly.”

Aranea had nodded in understanding, a wry smile on her lips. Then she remembered he couldn’t see -- it was so easy to forget his handicap with his every graceful and efficient movement -- so she said “We’ll do what we can.”

“Everything we can.”

There had been a grim determination in his voice that gripped her heart then, and did not let go even after the mad rush during those early days of restoration had mellowed into a slower, steadier current.

*****

It took three months before they found a pocket of time long enough to share more than a few passing words. They’d meant to simply have brunch and catch up, but ended up lingering over cups of cold coffee and promising to get together like this more often. So they did, coming back again and again to the same side-street diner to eat and talk and enjoy each other’s presence.

Another three months passed before Ignis invited Aranea over to his place, when he’d finally deemed it suitable for anyone to visit. “It isn’t much. I don’t even have an idea what it looks like,” he’d said with a chuckle. “But it’s home.”

“Relax, Ignis. It looks great. And there’s no need to impress me.”

He’d wanted to, though, deep down in that forgotten corner of his heart, so he’d cooked his best dish and served some wine and a chocolate cake he’d spent hours and hours to perfect.

“Did I impress you enough to convince you to stay?” It was an offer he had to make. “I can sleep on the sofa.”

Aranea had laughed and given him a kiss, a quick, teasing one that tasted like dessert and a promise. “It’s still early. And my place isn’t too far from here. Maybe next time?”

“Of course.”

*****

From there, it had been a freefall into the spiral of that nameless something. To allow themselves to be caught up in its wake, feel its fire in their veins, taste its shock on their tongues.

More home-cooked dinners that lasted longer and longer. More kisses that became deeper and deeper. Until he’d finally dared to push his hands under her shirt to caress the smooth expanse of her back. Until he’d finally convinced her to stay the night

It had been so easy for her to say yes. When he said he’d sleep on the sofa, she’d insisted they share the bed. And so under the sheets, they’d kissed and touched and breathed in each other, basked in their shared heat that threatened to burn.

She’d wanted him then, a lance of sharp desire spearing through her. She took his hand and placed it on the band on her underwear, a counter-offer to the one he’d made weeks ago when he first asked her to stay the night.

He merely traced the lacy edge of the fabric. She could still feel the imprints left by his scorching touch until now. “I want you, Aranea. You have to know that. But I just…”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just want to hold you right now. If that’s all right.”

She’d looked at him then, a fierce and calculating stare that he couldn’t see but could definitely feel. Moments that lasted eternities later, she kissed his lips with a butterfly touch and gathered him close. “Hold me all you want.”

They’d woken up in a tangle of limbs, her back to his chest and his mouth on her neck in an echo of a kiss in their dreams.

  


* * *

  


Here they are tonight, half-undressed in his bedroom and breathing heavily with want.

Ignis has Aranea pressed against the door, their bodies touching in delightful places. He kisses her lips and nips at her neck, and a thrill rushes through him when she allows the faint mark. He licks the tiny bruise before continuing his explorations, down her collarbone and into the valley of her breasts. With careful attention, he pulls down one then both straps of her bra, unsnaps it with deft fingers, and lets it fall away.

“I wish I could see you. I’m sure you’re breathtaking,” he says. “May I touch you?”

She laughs, giddy and dizzy with arousal. “You have to ask?”

“Yes,” he says, and his tone is so sincere Aranea has to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

“Yeah, of course.” She doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until his hands are caressing her skin and she lets out a pleasured sigh.

His hands trail down her body slowly, carefully, mapping each dip and curve with precision. She’s trembling by the time he stops at her waistband, his fingers unbearably hot on the skin of her hips. “Go ahead,” she breathes.

He doesn’t though. He merely trails his hands back up and cups her face, pressing ardent kisses on her forehead, nose, then finally her mouth. “I’ve never…” he clears his throat and tries again after a beat. “I’ve never done this before.”

She huffs a little laugh, a tiny bit haughty and a lot incredulous. “What, sex?”

“I’m not entirely inexperienced.” It’s his turn to laugh, a self-deprecating little thing that makes a bloom of tenderness burst in her gut. “What I meant was that this will be the first time after everything.” He gestures vaguely to his face, to the scars still so stark after all these years, to his unseeing gaze that still manages to pin her with an almost physical weight.

Oh, bless his gentlemanly heart. “The mechanics don’t change, handsome.” She steps away from the door and closer to him, pressing the warmth of her body to his. Reaches up to stroke his hair, his cheeks, his jaw, as gently as her callused fingers would allow.

He catches her hand, wraps it tight within his, and kisses it with aching softness. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You won’t,” she replies, then draws him down for a kiss that leaves them gasping. “You won’t.”

She walks him backwards, and he mercifully takes off the rest of his clothes -- just his jeans and boxers now -- as soon as the backs of his knees touch the edge of the bed.

“You’re gorgeous,” she declares. She takes in every inch of him, devouring him with her gaze and she almost, almost feels guilty that she could see him and he couldn’t do the same with her.

He laughs his little laugh again. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to undress me?” she asks, and it was the right thing to say because the smile he gives her is beatific.

“Yes please,” he breathes.

Like him, she only has her jeans and underwear to remove by now, but he takes his time. Her knees nearly buckle as he kneels in front of her, his breath fanning her lower stomach, as he undoes the button and pushes down the zipper. Her throat betrays her and lets out a needy little whine as he helps her out of denim and lace.

“You’re asking for my permission again?” she says, and her voice is unsteady with anticipation and long-built desire. She wants him to touch her, wants his hands and lips and tongue on her, but all he does his press his forehead on her belly and kiss the skin there. “You can touch. You can do anything you want.”

“I want to love you,” he replies and he looks up at her in supplication.

She pulls him up wordlessly, walks the few steps to the bed and lays herself down, pulling her on top of him. “Then love me.”

So he does. She falls apart under his careful touch, and gets put back together by his kisses. He dies in her arms and gets reborn in the heady scent of her skin.

“Ignis, please. I need you. I want you, please, now. _Please_.” She doesn’t know how much more of his worshipful attention she can take.

“Let me…” he stutters as he reaches for the bedside table. “Let me just….”

She takes his wrist and slides her hand up to entwine their fingers. “I’m okay if you are.”

Ignis moans. “Astrals.”

“Please. Now, Ignis. I want you now.”

It was pure bliss, the heat of her. “You feel divine. Gods, you’re perfect.”

She laughs and the fire grows hotter. “Love me, Ignis.”

So he does. So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! ♡♡♡
> 
> Holler at me on tumblr. I'm raidelle there too. :)


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